played across the pavement. I was hot and wanted to put on the air-conditioning, but Miss Amelia frowned on air-conditioning unless the thermometer read at least one hundred and one. We had the windows down, my limp ponytail flapping against my damp back, sweat pouring down my face, while Miss Amelia sat beside me, cool and untouched by the hot sun or the cloudless sky or much of anything beyond her own deep thoughts.
“As I was telling you before,” she said after a while, “there’s the mean ones and the kind ones and there’s the liars and there’s people so poor they come in for one pecan sandy though most of the time I make it at least two, telling them I got a special going. And there’s rich people with a hundred-dollar saddle on a ten-dollar horse; don’t pay their bills on time begging me for credit, which, as you know, is against everything I believe in.”
She thumped her hands in her lap. “And I know who’s having a little too much fun with another man’s wife, and I know the lady who comes into the store smelling like whiskey at ten in the morning. I know who’s having a fight with this one or that one ’cause they can never learn to keep their mouths shut. You just wouldn’t believe the things you learn about people when you run a store, Lindy. There’s that Tommy Johns, you know, the boy living down by the river in town with his daddy who’s so sick. Comes in asking for work all the time. Give him what I can. And that Wright boy from over by the old railroad tracks working three jobs to get himself to college. That one girl pregnant . . . I’m not saying any names. Why, baking pies for people seems to come with a kind of trust you don’t usually get from human beings.” She nodded hard along with her own words.
“And I can tell you other things. Like about those cheaters at the county fair, wanting to take home the pecan pie prize so bad you just wouldn’t believe what they’d do to win. And then I had thieves—well, one, who will remain nameless—trying to steal my recipes. Caught her back in the kitchen at the store one day. Riffling through my recipe boxes and telling me she was only looking for a blank card ’cause she had to write something down right then. And her bragging all over town that her pecan pie’s just as good as mine.”
I had to smile, knowing my grandmother’s continuing feud with Ethelred Tomroy, even though they’d been friends since the first day Miss Amelia came to the ranch.
“You’d just be surprised at what pie envy brings out in people,” Miss Amelia said, talking almost to herself.
“One thing I learned, though, is you don’t judge too harshly. Everybody’s got their story, you know. Wish you coulda known your grandfather. Darnell Hastings. A fine man. Would’ve made a great governor of this state. He believed in Texas values. The real values—like taking care of your family and yourself and still sharing this country with others. My Darnell would never’ve stood for the kind of raw violence some of these politicians stand for today.” Miss Amelia took a long breath. “The man died way too young. Then there’s your daddy Jake’s death and Justin so sure somebody killed him. After a while you get so you don’t feel sorry for yourself so much as you just get plain mad at the world. That’s what I’m feeling right now . . . so gosh darned mad.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and sat up even straighter. “So I’m saying the two of us can take on anything. We got you with your college smarts and me with my people smarts. Good combination, I’d say, for finding a murderer.”
She glanced over, catching the big grin on my face. For maybe the first time, I had a true picture of the young woman behind the tired, older face. I recognized this different woman, one who could be a friend, not only a grandmother. I reached over and squeezed her hand.
“So, to Rancho Conway?”
Miss Amelia nodded. “Giddy up,” she said.
“As I was telling you before,” she said after a while, “there’s the mean ones and the kind ones and there’s the liars and there’s people so poor they come in for one pecan sandy though most of the time I make it at least two, telling them I got a special going. And there’s rich people with a hundred-dollar saddle on a ten-dollar horse; don’t pay their bills on time begging me for credit, which, as you know, is against everything I believe in.”
She thumped her hands in her lap. “And I know who’s having a little too much fun with another man’s wife, and I know the lady who comes into the store smelling like whiskey at ten in the morning. I know who’s having a fight with this one or that one ’cause they can never learn to keep their mouths shut. You just wouldn’t believe the things you learn about people when you run a store, Lindy. There’s that Tommy Johns, you know, the boy living down by the river in town with his daddy who’s so sick. Comes in asking for work all the time. Give him what I can. And that Wright boy from over by the old railroad tracks working three jobs to get himself to college. That one girl pregnant . . . I’m not saying any names. Why, baking pies for people seems to come with a kind of trust you don’t usually get from human beings.” She nodded hard along with her own words.
“And I can tell you other things. Like about those cheaters at the county fair, wanting to take home the pecan pie prize so bad you just wouldn’t believe what they’d do to win. And then I had thieves—well, one, who will remain nameless—trying to steal my recipes. Caught her back in the kitchen at the store one day. Riffling through my recipe boxes and telling me she was only looking for a blank card ’cause she had to write something down right then. And her bragging all over town that her pecan pie’s just as good as mine.”
I had to smile, knowing my grandmother’s continuing feud with Ethelred Tomroy, even though they’d been friends since the first day Miss Amelia came to the ranch.
“You’d just be surprised at what pie envy brings out in people,” Miss Amelia said, talking almost to herself.
“One thing I learned, though, is you don’t judge too harshly. Everybody’s got their story, you know. Wish you coulda known your grandfather. Darnell Hastings. A fine man. Would’ve made a great governor of this state. He believed in Texas values. The real values—like taking care of your family and yourself and still sharing this country with others. My Darnell would never’ve stood for the kind of raw violence some of these politicians stand for today.” Miss Amelia took a long breath. “The man died way too young. Then there’s your daddy Jake’s death and Justin so sure somebody killed him. After a while you get so you don’t feel sorry for yourself so much as you just get plain mad at the world. That’s what I’m feeling right now . . . so gosh darned mad.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and sat up even straighter. “So I’m saying the two of us can take on anything. We got you with your college smarts and me with my people smarts. Good combination, I’d say, for finding a murderer.”
She glanced over, catching the big grin on my face. For maybe the first time, I had a true picture of the young woman behind the tired, older face. I recognized this different woman, one who could be a friend, not only a grandmother. I reached over and squeezed her hand.
“So, to Rancho Conway?”
Miss Amelia nodded. “Giddy up,” she said.
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